


Merry Christmas

by rosesofred



Series: Prodigal Brat [6]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bratting, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual, OTK, Over the Knee, Spanking, corner time, tantrums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesofred/pseuds/rosesofred
Summary: So Malcolm is an absolute fool in episode 10, who the hell just waves a gun around and points it at their head? Anyways, he gets some well deserved punishment and Gil loves him a lot.
Series: Prodigal Brat [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566229
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	Merry Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> So Malcolm triggers Gil hard and the lieutenant loses his temper because he just can't with him sometimes. He's hard on him but Gil is America's Dad and does his best. Merry Christmas everyone lol, this might be it for a little while but idk, inspiration might strike again. But I finished episode 10 so I might slow down a lot with this series until season 2 comes along. Anyways, enjoy and leave a comment if you liked it!

Malcolm knew the moment he saw Gil’s look, that expression that said ‘You’ve done it now, kid.’ That sick feeling in his stomach hit a moment after he realized what he was doing, waving a gun around and pointing it at his head. “Bright, put the gun down! NOW!”

“It’s not-oh- wait, it is,” he handed it off to one of the other officers, feeling embarrassed by his stupid mistake. He could’ve blown his head off just now.

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?” Malcolm swallowed, quickly deflecting the question by rambling on about his theory. A few minutes of psychobabble and he thought for sure he was off the hook. Until Gil grabbed him by the arm, leading him out of the crime scene like a puppy that's just been caught chewing furniture. He didn’t say a word to him until they reached a bathroom down the hall, practically pushing him in before shutting the door behind him. “Drop your pants.” The order was clear, alarming, and brooked no room for argument.

Malcolm only stood there stupidly, eyes going wide in response. Drop his pants? In a hotel bathroom filled with the NYPD and curious citizens? He looked around but found the room to be empty, hoping to God nobody would walk in. “Gil-”

“Now, Malcolm. Don’t make me ask again.”

“I realize how stupid it was but-” he was cut off by the approaching man, turned to his side and walloped harshly three times. Being spun back around, a finger was shoved in his face as Arroyo lectured him.

“You don’t wave guns around! You got a death wish again?” The lieutenant led him to an open stall, the space compact but enough for them both to squeeze in. He lifted his leg, grabbing ahold of Malcolm as the boy shook his head. Using most of his upper body strength, he picked up and threw his son over his knee, careful not to make him hit anything. Anger and concern coursed through him, with a little adrenaline mixed in to make up a cocktail of disbelief. “Pointing a gun at your head,” Arroyo grilled, his hand coming down hard and fast. “Is never ok! Ever!”

“Sorry!” Bright shouted, holding on to his mentor’s leg and ankle for dear life.

“You do that again,” he landed a slap so hard it rocked the boy forward. “And I swear to God Malcolm I will use my belt on you.”

“Ok!” he agreed. Anything to make this stop.

“Do you want that?” he hit his sit spots now, the consultant’s legs kicking back and forth. 

“No! I hate the belt!”

“Then don’t be stupid!”

“I’m sorry I’m stupid, Gil!”

Gil’s hand stopped midswing and he looked down at the boy, really looked at him, and realized his mistake. “You’re not stupid. That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again.

Sighing softly, Gil grabbed him by the waist, lowering him down to stand on his own feet. The young man’s face was tear streaked and scared, his eyes wide. Malcolm looked up at him through his wet eyelashes, looking all the more like a scolded puppy. “I shouldn’t have hit you in anger.” He put a hand on the consultant’s shoulder, his lips becoming tight. “That wasn’t right.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Oh I’m furious,” Gil answered sharply. “But I’m not going to punish you in anger.”

Bright sulked now, realizing it meant he wasn’t out of trouble. “But I learned my lesson,” he whined. “Don’t point guns at my head.”

Arroyo folded his arms, looking down at him with disapproval. “That’s not a lesson you should have to learn.”

“Right, self preservation,” Malcolm realized. “Well, lesson learned.” He paused a moment before letting himself out of the stall, uncomfortable with the close quarters. 

“I don’t think so, Bright.” Gil followed him out, still radiating the anger he felt before. “We’re going back to your place.”

“Gil!” Malcolm spun around, facing his mentor with unapologetic attitude. “No, I learned it! Lesson learned!”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“But-” Malcolm stopped short when he realized his mentor wasn’t budging. He threw his hands down, groaning at the unfairness of it all. His backside stung and it wasn’t over yet. Enter the fresh new hell awaiting him at home. “Unfair,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Watch it,” Arroyo warned, walking towards him to exit the bathroom.

Malcolm shot him a rebellious look but said nothing, instead following the lieutenant out and back down the hall. He reluctantly hitched a ride with the older man, the drive silent back to his loft. But neither one of them really wanted to say anything, lest it explode into an argument. When they arrived at the apartment, Gil immediately ordered him into the corner, Bright thankfully deciding not to fight it. Arroyo took his coat off, shrugging his shoulders to release the tension. He made himself a drink, leaning back against one of the side walls to observe his son. The boy’s fists were clenched and he was leaned forward, his forehead holding him up against the wall. He looked every bit the pouty child he was acting like. Despite the well tailored suit, Gil couldn’t tell the difference.

The older man sat down on the couch, sipping at his whiskey slowly. That silly boy, waving a gun around like it was nothing. What was he going to do with him? His nerves were calming down now, the anger slowly dissipating into a mild fear and concern. He was still mad, but he wasn’t afraid of accidentally hurting the consultant now. Gil guessed it was probably time he let the boy out of the corner. 

Setting the glass down on the coffee table, Arroyo also happened to notice the heel-shaped hole in Malcolm’s giant TV and wondered if it had anything to do with Jessica. She did have quite the temper. “Alright kid, you can come out now.”

Malcolm sighed in relief, walking slowly over to his mentor. It might have been nice to be done with the corner but this meant he’d have to take the other part of his punishment. The part he very much didn’t like. “Please go easy on me,” Bright begged.

“Give me one reason why I should,” Arroyo offered, his face stone cold. 

“It’s Christmas?” he tried.

Considering it, Gil realized it was a good argument. But at the same time, gun, head, almost blowing his brains out. “Come here,” he ordered. He reached a hand out towards him, noting how Malcolm looked at like it might bite him. “I’m not angry anymore, its ok.”

Bright hesitated but took his hand, allowing himself to be led forward and guided softly over the man’s awaiting lap. The lieutenant wasted no time in beginning the punishment, his hand flying down in quick succession to cover every inch of the boy’s backside. Malcolm squirmed but didn’t say anything, didn’t yelp or cry. So that’s how he was going to act this time, strong and silent. Gil understood, but also knew that his son tended to be harder to talk to when he was like this. It was harder to get him to admit his wrongdoings when the young man was acting stoic.

‘What a Christmas,’ Arroyo thought. As he rained down smack after smack, his mind kept going back to seeing him there, waving the gun around like it was a toy. Like it didn’t matter if it went off. Did his young consultant have a death wish again? Had he just not seen the signs? Or was he simply being careless, not thinking about actions and consequences. Whatever it was, Gil decided not to ask just yet, to let Malcolm lie there and think about what he’d done.

If he had an outrageously sore backside from this, that was fine. He had to make sure Bright never did this again, never ever put his life in jeopardy like it was a game ever again. So maybe he was being a little harder on him this time, his hand falling heavier than normal, he didn’t care. What he cared about was that image that kept flashing through his head. That sickening sound of the gun being cocked, knowing it was loaded and feeling like he was about to watch his son blow his brains out.

Gil paused, hand resting against the consultant’s thigh. He took a deep breath, cleared his mind, centered himself. This is about keeping Malcolm safe, not being angry. Arroyo noticed the boy’s labored breathing, noted the tight muscles tensing in response to the punishment. But still no sounds, no pleas for mercy. He was just taking it, no fighting. That concerned him, actually. Gil grabbed ahold of Malcolm’s pants, glad he hadn’t worn a belt that day, and pulled both his slacks and underwear down to his knees.

Not a single reaction from the young man. Gil gave a look of concern, taking in the sight before him and looking for any signs of bruising. There were a few dark marks, areas where his hand print was outlined, but otherwise the boy seemed to be fine. “You want to talk to me?”

“No,” came the short, sharp response.

“Then we can stay here until you do.” Gil didn’t raise his hand, didn’t continue the punishment. Instead he waited, patiently deciding not to keep going. He knew it would work, knew his son couldn’t stand being bared. It was only a matter of moments before the boy shifted his hips and spoke again, a twinge of desperation in his voice.

“I know what I did was wrong.”

Gil raised his hand now, bringing it down hard in a steady rhythm. “Good. So why’d you do it?”

Malcolm bit his lip, unsure of how to respond. He lowered his head but Arroyo glanced at his face and noticed the biting, shooting a hand forward to catch his jaw.

“None of that,” Gil ordered. When Bright only pouted further, his look becoming dark, Arroyo used his other hand to release the boy’s lip from his teeth. There was a small amount of blood but not much. “Do you understand me? No biting.” He gave the boy a stern look, unsure of where all this rebellious attitude was coming. Releasing his jaw, Gil began the spanking again. “Are you mad at me? Is that it?”

“It’s not fair,” Malcolm mumbled.

“You don’t think it's fair?” His hand was beginning to sting, the boy’s backside growing hot under the attack.

“No,” Bright snapped.

“What’s not fair about it? The fact that I’m punishing you for almost blowing your brains out?”

The consultant swallowed, realizing there wasn’t a very good response for that. “You already punished me.”

“Not nearly enough.”

“But I already know its wrong!”

“Which is why you shouldn’t have done it in the first place.” Gil focused his hand on the man’s sit spots now. “But you did, so here we are.”

“It’s Christmas,” he tried.

“Which is why I’m not using an implement to tan your backside right now,” Arroyo answered. Finally the boy began struggling, twisting back and forth under his hold. At least he was behaving normally now, it was sort of a relief. “So Merry Christmas.”

Malcolm scoffed but was actually very grateful, really glad his mentor wasn’t using a ruler or a wooden spoon again. Those things hurt like hell, brought upon a fire in his backside like none other. So Merry Christmas indeed. He could feel himself breaking now that he wasn’t focused on blocking out the pain. The damn was crumbling quickly, he wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate. “I wasn’t thinking,” he explained.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Bright admitted. His voice cracked as he added “Just didn’t care.”

“Well I care, and everyone in that room cared.”

“I know.”

“Nobody liked seeing you wave that gun around. It was dangerous, thoughtless, and reckless.”

“I know!”

“And if you ever do it again,” Gil landed the hardest smacks yet. “I will put you over my knee every night for a week. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir!” Bright squirmed and wiggled like a rowdy child, unable to get away from the attacking hand. “I’m sorry!”

“So why don’t we go waving loaded guns around and pointing them at our heads?”

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he huffed, shoulders beginning to tremble. “Its reckless and dangerous!”

He picked up the speed, knowing they were close to the end. “You ever going to do it again?”

“No!”

Instead of stopping the punishment, Gil kept raining down slap after slap, still not satisfied that his son had learned his lesson. He didn’t catch it soon enough, didn’t see the boy’s hand shoot out to grab the glass. Then before he knew it, the empty glass was flying through the air, shattering into pieces against the wall. Arroyo’s hand stopped, his mouth hung open for a split second while he took in what just happened. 

The lieutenant tipped him forward in an instant, bringing his hand down hard and fast. “You trying to make me angry?” Malcolm bit out a yelp but gave no response. “Are you angry, is that it?”

Bucking his hips, Bright fought to get away, twisting back and forth but finding himself trapped. “Maybe!” 

“If you’re angry, you talk to me,” Gil lectured, never stopping. The consultant’s feet hit against the floor, back and forth as he threw a tantrum. “You don’t throw things, you don’t throw a goddamn tantrum. You talk to me.” His voice was hard and unwavering, no room for argument. As much as it pained him, he continued to slap his hand down, over and over again until he finally felt Malcolm collapse, the fight out of his tired body.

“Sorry!” the boy wailed, burying his face into the couch cushion.

Gil stopped the moment he felt the young man give up, deciding it was enough. He’d been really hard on him today but his son really needed it. Obviously he was in desperate need of discipline if he was waving a gun around like it was a toy. “I’m not kidding, Malcolm. I don’t ever want to see you do that again.”

“I k-know!” he shouted, shoulders shaking now. “Sorry!”

Arroyo gave his son a sad look, knowing the boy’s pain. It wasn’t easy taking a spanking, and on Christmas of all days. He pulled the man’s clothes back up, not waiting for him to calm down before he turned him over, sitting him up in his lap.

Malcolm looked disheveled, properly chastised, and thoroughly spent. Gil pulled him into a hug, feeling bad about having to punish him so harshly. The consultant slumped against his shoulder, fully soaking in the comfort. He felt boneless, just a slab of exhaustion and fatigue.

Gil reached into his pocket, pulling out one of the candies the boy loved so much. “Hey,” he practically whispered. Looking up at him with teary eyes, Malcolm sniffled and wiped at his eyes. He opened his hand, a weak smile forming on his face as he took the candy.

“Thank you,” the consultant said softly. “Is this a reward for taking my punishment?”

Arroyo chuckled at the idea, like giving a kid candy for obeying his parents. Actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea… “Maybe it is.”

His expression changed instantly as he realized what this meant. “That sucks.”

Gil smiled at him, pulling him back into a hug. “I know kid.”


End file.
